


Growing Pains

by lary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, First Time, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Romance, Slash, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being outed makes Harry's eighth year at Hogwarts an interesting one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own them.

 

 

_Mr. Potter,_

_From numerous unresponded letters one would have hoped for you to gather this, but as this does not seem to be case, allow me to put it plainly: I have no wish to be your friend._

_I don't owe you anything. Your contribution to the prompt treatment at St. Mungo's after Nagini's attack may have saved my life. However, any life debt between us would be void because of the reciprocity that has occurred._

_Thus, I will ask you to kindly cease this harassment immediately._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Severus Snape_

 

**

 

“Oi! Will you two give it a rest?”

 

Ginny's answering laughter rung in the train compartment, clearly unsympathetic to her brother's plight.

 

“I didn't like seeing _that_ when you two were together, but now it's just weird,” Ron complained.

 

“You know, you might wanna stop being such a prude,” Ginny winked. “That's half the reason we keep it up.”

 

Ron glared at me, and I shrugged, grinning half-apologetically. “What? Just because I'm gay, doesn't mean I can't still appreciate a great pair of tits,” I remarked, keeping my hands on Ginny's, and refusing the blush that was threatening.

 

She shifted into a more comfortable position on my lap and smirked at me. “So what you're saying is that you blame my boobs for how long it took you to realise you're bent?”

 

“Well, obviously.”

 

Ron looked half-desperate. “And when did my little sister's breasts become an appropriate topic of conversation?”

 

Ginny pierced him with a death-glare, and I sent my sincerest thanks to higher powers for the fact that it wasn't directed at me. “For your information, Ronald, it's _none_ of your business,” she stated icily. “If I don't want somebody talking about me or touching me, I'm perfectly capable of letting them know myself. You've been at the receiving end of my bat-bogey hex, right?” Ron winced when she got up and loomed over him. “I will make out with whoever I want and fuck whoever I want and talk about it with whoever I want. And if you've got a problem with it, I don't give a rat's ass. Got it?”

 

Ron was flustered and looked like he wanted to argue. It was a conflict the youngest Weasley siblings had been rehashing multiple times during the last few days, before we were due to return to Hogwarts for the final year. Hermione and I were both well practised at staying out of it, and she didn't even glance up from her book. For a while, there was a silence only broken by the clunking noises the train was making. After a few moment's standoff, Ron finally shrugged.

 

“Fine,” he bit out and made to pointedly stare out the window as Ginny settled herself back on my lap.

 

“He needs to get over himself,” Ginny muttered angrily, and if Ron heard her, he chose not to say anything.

 

“I know,” I murmured in her ear, putting my arms around her. “He will, I promise.”

 

Ginny gave me a grateful smile, knowing all too well that I was speaking from experience. Then it morphed into a teasing one. “Hopefully not much longer than it took for him to accept your perversions.”

 

“Yeah. I took longer to accept it myself, to be honest.” It was still a process, and I was unsure how I'd be able to handle the inevitable publicity, but at least I was coming to grips with being into blokes.

 

“Well, you've always been a bit slow on the uptake.”

 

“Tramp.”

 

“Of course,” she retorted, winking.

 

Hermione glanced up from her book, giving me a gentle smile, the kind she seemed to be favouring since I'd come out to the Weasley family a few weeks ago. “It's not unusual, Harry, for it to take a while for somebody to realise they're homosexual.”

 

“Hmm.” Ginny furrowed her brow mock-thoughtfully. “I should've realised the first time we broke up, though. I mean, what teenage boy passes the chance to get rid of his virginity before facing a possibly lethal battle with a homicidal maniac? Nobody's that noble.”

 

“She's got a point,” Ron muttered, joining back into the conversation. “I mean, as much as it pains me to say this, Malfoy should've been a clue.”

 

“Or Half-Blood Prince,” Hermione added from behind her textbook.

 

Ron looked stunned, then laughed. “Yeah, Merlin, you're right!” he exclaimed. Hermione gave her a fond look that seemed to say _obviously_ in the nicest possible way.

 

“Oooh, a crush I don't know about?” Ginny smiled. “Harry Potter, you've been holding out on me.”

 

My cheeks were warming, and I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, sort of, though I definitely didn't think it like that at the time. But I guess I was never really into potions before I got this book. I didn't know whose it was, even, but he was just so witty and-- well...”

 

“And you _were_ rather vehement about it being a guy,” Hermione said, eyes dancing in merriment. She probably remembered our arguments about the topic as well as I did.

 

“Little else would get your attention in the evenings besides it, too,” added Ron. Luckily, he didn't catch on to the reason I was blushing, unlike Ginny, who mercifully chose not to comment.

 

“All that would've been before I knew Half-Blood Prince was Snape, though,” I stated wryly, but barely kept the bitterness out of my voice. Somehow I'd felt so bad about the rejection that I hadn't been able to face telling them about having tried to contact the man during the Summer. Even the knowledge that I shouldn't have expected anything else in the first place didn't help.

 

“Snape?” Ginny asked, eyebrows rising to her hairline. “Really?”

 

“I didn't know!” Based on the way her eyebrows rose even further, it might have come out a bit too defensively.

 

“It must've been weird to find out.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea,” I said. “The fact that a guy I'd thought of as a friend turns out to be my teacher, and not just any teacher but _Snape_. Somebody who's fucking hated me for years. And then, then murders Dumbledore right in front of me a little after that.” And then turning out not to be a traitor and having been in love with my mother and... fuck it all. But I could hardly talk about that, since Snape's memories weren't something it was my place to share. Thinking about the man was confusing as hell and made me feel a hundred things at once with an intensity that made my head hurt. “I'm definitely not looking forward to potions this year.”

 

“Shit,” Ginny said, pressing my hand comfortingly and I rested my chin on her shoulder, avoiding looking at Ron and Hermione. They, of course, already knew all about the potions book, but we hadn't really talked about it much - I'd never been all that good at talking about my feelings, and had only recently started working on it.

 

Ginny had been a huge help, after our second break up, and she'd helped me go through a lot of my childhood baggage, supporting me probably more than anybody should be obligated to. She'd been incredible and had argued that we were both helping each other come to terms with who we were. She'd talked to me when trying to work through what she felt was a suffocating, chauvinistic load of crap she'd grown up with. As much as I loved both Molly and Ron, I could see what Ginny was saying after a while. They, in particular, acted as though her sexuality was something she needed to be protected from, while neither held similarly strict views when it came to her brothers. Ron also couldn't relate to her being interested in casual sex, when he'd only had eyes for Hermione for a long time.

 

Ginny had supported me when I'd finally come out to the rest of my family and friends. Ron had taken the news badly at first, feeling offended on behalf of his sister, but he'd come around after receiving a good smacking over the head from her. The rest of the Weasleys and Hermione had reacted well.

 

Especially George, with whom I'd had my first same-sex experience on the previous Thursday when we'd tumbled into George's bed after having shared a bottle of Firewhisky and a couple of hour's session of one-on-one strip poker.

 

Quickly I banished the trail of thought before my friends could get suspicious. We'd agreed to keep it quiet, and there probably was a distinct difference between hanging-out-with-my-friends-smile and remembering-my-first-blowjob-smile.

 

“We'll be there soon,” Hermione said, putting away her book at last when the train started to slow down.

 

The familiar autumn scenery greeted me. It felt like coming home.

 

**

 

“Do you see the new DADA teacher, Professor Miffin?” Lavender whispered.

 

“Oh, do I ever,” Padma said, fanning herself for dramatic effect.

 

Hermione gave me a conspiratorial smile. “He is quite hot...”

 

Ron held his chest in mock hurt, and I laughed as I glanced once more towards the teacher's table. Privately I agreed about the new teacher, who really was extremely fit. He was younger than the other professors, with soft-looking brown curls and a toned body. No doubt he'd attract as much of the student population's attention as Lockhart had, or possibly even more in case he had some actual intellect.

 

Without my permission, my eyes were moving to the other end of the table to rest on another wizard, who was currently eating his food in elegant movements. Nobody seemed to think of him as handsome the way they did Professor Miffin. The sudden surge of possessive satisfaction startled me into dropping my fork. Giving a wan smile to Hermione, I forced my attention back to the stew in front of me.

 

Merlin, I was pathetic. Still, I couldn't stop myself from peering at Snape again, only to look away hastily when our eyes met across the room. My face was burning and I swallowed another forkful without tasting it.

 

When I finally chanced another look towards the staff table, Snape's seat was empty. The tightness in my chest should have been relief, but oddly resembled disappointment.

 

**

 

The inevitable happened three weeks into the term.

 

“Pay attention, Harry,” Hermione whispered frantically. She wasn't really supposed to be focusing on my work at all, as everybody was expected to brew the sleeping draught individually.

 

“Alright, alright. Keep your pants on,” I replied distractedly, dropping the crushed beetles into the liquid, my eyes observing the way Snape's robes framed his body as he examined the potions of the Slytherin eight-years on the other side of the classroom.

 

The next moment I was knocked from my chair by Hermione, right before my cauldron exploded in a blast that would've made Neville proud. Trying to scramble up from the floor, I stared at the green sludge now hovering in the air, contained within a shield bubble that Snape must have conjured.

 

“Idiot boy,” he hissed, striding towards me. “Have you listened to anything I've said? Obviously the part about the correct composition of the beetles is too much for your feeble brain, but I would have thought you could absorb the warning about the corrosive nature of the unfinished potion, if only in order to avoid exposing Miss Granger to it. Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, and one week's detention.”

 

My hands clutched the edge of the table tightly, and I remained silent until Hermione elbowed me with a glare.

 

“Yes, sir,” I spat out, and Snape scowled, vanishing the bubble with a flick of his wand.

 

**

 

“God, he's so unreasonable!”

 

Ron made a sympathetic noise, but Hermione ignored us both, writing her transfiguration essay with a slight frown, bent over the common room desk.

 

“Week of detention! Like I don't see the greasy git more than enough in classes,” I said. “I mean, we've already got double potions twice a week!”

 

“I know, mate,” Ron said. “If I didn't want to be Auror so badly, I'd throw my cauldron at the giant squid already. You're lucky, Neville, to not be in the NEWT potions class.”

 

“Believe me, I know,” Neville said with a satisfied grin.

 

Hermione apparently couldn't resist the temptation any longer. “Honestly, Harry, if you'd just listened to me when I told you about the right way to use the mortar--” she started, but I really wasn't in the mood to listen to her lecturing.

 

“I should head to the dungeons, he'll likely give me another week if I'm late. The last thing I need is to be around the bastard any more than I already have to.”

 

Far from the last thing, a traitorous voice mused in my head, but I ignored it as I climbed out of the portrait hole.

 

**

 

Turned out it wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be.

 

It was worse.

 

“Mr. Potter, how good of you to join us,” Snape said as soon as I walked in, the velvety voice shivering down my spine, distracting me enough that it took me a moment to take in the 'us' in question. Snape smirked as he stated, “My assistant, Mr. Malfoy, will be overseeing your detention.”

 

Incredulously, I stared at Snape's back as he strode off, closing the classroom door behind him. “Great,” I muttered, while Malfoy settled into Snape's chair and leaned backwards comfortably.

 

“Well, well. Already the Saviour is in detention. How come I'm not surprised?”

 

“Bugger off, Malfoy.”

 

“Can't really do that, can I now?” he asked much too gleefully.

 

Giving him a glare, I gritted my teeth. “Just get on with it and tell me what to do.”

 

Malfoy pointed at the back table lazily. “There are cauldrons over there, in desperate need of cleaning. No magic, of course. I'm sure you're familiar with the procedure by now considering the amount of detentions you've spent here in previous years.”

 

Throwing down my backpack I made my way to the back, ignoring Malfoy's satisfied humming and murmurs about doing something _productive_ as he started grading first year essays. He wouldn't reduce me onto his level. It was about time the berk did something useful, anyway.

 

When I'd just finished the fifth large cauldron, a shuffle from behind me made me whirl around.

 

“Carry on, Potter,” Malfoy grinned, coming to peer over my shoulder.

 

Reluctantly, I turned back around. “What happened to doing something productive?” I asked through my teeth.

 

“I'm promoting inter-house interaction by starting a conversation with a member of another house,” Malfoy answered in McGonagall's words. “You know,” the blond drawled, “you should really pick a better beard, Potter. It's not very effective when your supposed girlfriend is known as the Whore of Gryffindor. A little birdie told me she's currently sleeping her way through Ravenclaw.”

 

Twisting around quickly, I had Malfoy by the robes before he could blink. “Insult Ginny again and I'll break your neck,” I growled. “I don't care what McGonagall says about inter-house unity.”

 

“Oh, she should see Saint Potter right now,” he said, not going for his wand as I'd expected. “Relax, you imbecile. It wasn't an insult. Ginny is the female version of me, in case you haven't noticed. I would hardly be judging her when I'm known as the Slut of Slytherin.”

 

With a headshake, I tried to ignore the way I could feel Malfoy's heartbeat against my hand. “You're... you-- what?”

 

“Slut of Slytherin. A title well earned, I assure you. Don't tell me you haven't heard. It would be a pity, that,” Malfoy purred. He looked me up and down appraisingly. My cheeks were heating and I let go of his robes, stepping away hastily. The last thing I needed was for Malfoy to notice and out me to the whole school.

 

Unfortunately, the other boy seemed to have no trouble following my thought process. “Please.” He adjusted his robes nonchalantly. “Don't insult my intelligence by holding onto the pretence of being straight. In case you've forgotten, it was me you used to stalk. Though I suppose you go for older men nowadays.”

 

My mouth went dry. Surely Malfoy couldn't have noticed. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

 

The blond didn't answer, but smiled in a way that made me nervous. Turning back to the row of cauldrons, I breathed a small sigh of relief when Malfoy strode off again.

 

The rest of the detentions were similarly administered by Malfoy, but they became more and more bizarre.

 

“You know, it's a good sign,” Malfoy said on Thursday night, after Snape had left us in the classroom. I was elbow deep in a cauldron once again, while Malfoy whirled his wand idly.

 

“What is?” I asked, because by now I'd gathered the git became more obnoxious the longer you ignored him.

 

“He doesn't want to be in the same room with you.”

 

It felt too much like a punch in the gut. “Great to hear it,” I ground out. For a few days I'd tried to deny Malfoy's suspicions about my crush on Snape (and fine, it was a crush) before giving it up as a lost cause.

 

“You really don't get it, do you? He doesn't trust himself around you when he's dying to get into your pants.”

 

Sure. “Just. Leave. It. Alone.”

 

“Maybe if you asked nicely,” Malfoy said.

 

“Like that would make you shut up,” I said, cursing when I splashed some of the water on myself.

 

“You're right, it probably wouldn't.”

 

“Why are you so hung up on this?” I demanded, glancing at him suspiciously.

 

“I've got a debt to both of you, Potter, and believe it or not it's not a situation I particularly enjoy. You're clearly circling each other, and too damn stubborn to do anything about it. I only have your best interests at heart.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Oh, by the way, tell your fake girlfriend to add two for me from this week.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Ginny. Tell her to add two. You do know how to count to two, Potter?” Malfoy asked me, as if I was being slow.

 

“What the hell are you talking about now?”

 

Malfoy smirked. “Why don't you ask her when you give her my message.”

 

**

 

“What's going on with you and Malfoy?” I whispered to Ginny at breakfast on Friday morning.

 

She gave me a much too innocent smile. “Why, what did he say?”

 

“Told you to add two.”

 

Her smile widened. “And was this last night?”

 

“Yeah, why?” I asked when she scribbled down something in a little notebook.

 

“ _Muffliato_ ,” she murmured before flashing me a grin. “We have a little competition. You can tell him tonight at detention that I'm ahead by three from last week.”

 

“Three what?”

 

“Three people,” she said.

 

“Three people what?”

 

“I've gotten off with three more people than he has,” she said casually.

 

“Seriously?”

 

She grinned at me and nodded. Laughing I shook my head, and she took down the privacy spell.

 

Hermione eyed us questioningly, but I simply went back to eating with a shrug of my shoulders. If Ginny wanted her to know, she could tell Hermione herself. She was likely to have some moral objection or other.

 

Ron's yelp made me look up from my porridge again. “It's from George!” he said enthusiastically. My mouth went dry as I took in the letter unfolded in front of him. Ron's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Fuck.

 

“I don't get it, what Firewhiskey?”

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

The owl hooted sharply, nipping at his fingers, and Hermione noticed the torn envelope. “Ronald! It's not for you, it's for Harry,” she said exasperatedly, taking the letter from his fingers and handing it to me, appearing startled by my expression.

 

Ron frowned. “Why is he writing to you?”

 

“I... um, hold on a sec,” I said, quickly scanning through the letter.

 

_Hey,_

_How're things at Hogwarts?_

_Thanks for last time. It was good to unload with somebody who knows what it's like to lose the people closest to you. It's never gonna be the same, but I've been handling the store a few times a week again. Fred would want me to._

_You can stay over or not, but I'll buy the Firewhiskey next time._

 

_Forge (He'd want me to. Right?)_

 

“Harry?” The sorrow and hope elicited by the letter were piercing me so strongly that I'd forgotten for a moment about Ron. After an attempt of figuring out just what to say, I gave up, not wanting to lie anymore, not even by omission. George would understand. We'd only agreed that there wasn't really any need to make a big deal out of it in the family, as we had no romantic feelings towards each other. But with Ron having accidentally read the letter, the kneazle was half out of the bag anyway.

 

With a glance at Ginny, she took my hand. She was the only one who knew, and understood perhaps better than anybody could the reasons I hadn't wanted to have this discussion with Ron. Hermione looked questioningly between us.

 

“Right,” I said quietly. “Don't freak out, alright? George and I... we spent a night together.”

 

Hermione took a sharp breath, but Ron was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. “You what?” he asked after a moment.

 

“We slept together.”

 

Ron jumped up suddenly, startling me. “You're telling me YOU HAD SEX WITH MY BROTHER?!”

 

With a cringe, I shut my eyes as a dead silence fell into the Great Hall. For all the reasons not to tell Ron, I had failed to consider this one. And then all the students started talking at once, causing an eruption of noise.

 

“You're such a bloody idiot,” Ginny hissed at Ron. She was crushing my hand in hers, a gesture for which I was grateful despite the physical pain. Ron cursed and I only opened my eyes when he took off. Paralysed, I was stuck thinking that wasn't ready for this. I could feel all the eyes on me, but I refused to face them, looking instead at Hermione and Ginny.

 

To my horror, my attempted laughter came out more like a sob. “I suppose that's it then,” I said.

 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, voice filled with sympathy.

 

“C'mon you both, let's get out of here,” Ginny said, dragging me up by arm and striding fast towards the doors. Hermione followed, docking points from two second-year students for getting in our way.

 

By the time we reached seventh floor, I was on the verge of hyperventilation. When we opened the door, the Room of Requirement held a box of tissues and a soft couch big enough for three.

 

That Friday was the day I'd remember as the day of my freedom, on which the two most important women in my life held me together and with their love and acceptance gave me the strength to face the world as an openly gay man.

 

**

 

That night I stayed in the Room of Requirement, and didn't protest when Hermione and Ginny took turns at keeping me busy during the weekend. Ginny raced me for the snitch on the Quidditch pitch, which actually made me forget about things a couple of times. A handful of students from Gryffindor were waiting for us when we landed, and they made clear that they regarded me the same way as they always had, their sincere smiles letting some relief spread inside me. Gryffindor solidarity, starting with hexing the reporters that had tried to get to the school grounds. Neville, Dean and Seamus were amongst them.

 

Ron wasn't.

 

When it was Hermione's turn, I had to laugh. Her solution was the same as it always was – the library. My mind absorbed little of the information it tried to gather from studying, but Hermione kept me at it until I'd managed to finish the essay she'd gotten Snape to assign as compensation for missing my last detention. How she'd managed that was anybody's guess, but it seemed that Snape's strength of will had met its match this time.

 

Despite the problems with concentration, Hermione's idea worked. While we attracted stares, the library functioned as a sanctuary, as Madam Pince strictly threw out anybody who dared so much as whisper. After an hour and six banned students later, people begun to get the message. After a couple more hours, they even started to get tired of staring at me, and from that point onwards I was able to focus on the many possible uses of beetle eyes.

 

On Monday I skipped breakfast but walked to double potions with my head held up high, ignoring the occasional snickers and audibly whispered insults from other students. Hermione docked points for the latter reactions, never breaking her determined stride alongside me. Snape's arrival to the classroom brought a blessed silence. For once, I kept my eyes fixed on the potion and, thus, managed a result that received a nod of approval from the professor.

 

Snape's black eyes fixed on mine when I dropped off my essay at the end of the session, and his words startled me. “You're a Gryffindor, Potter. You can do it.”

 

His conviction brooked no disagreement. “Yes, sir,” I answered and received in return a small smile which vanished so quickly I might have imagined it in the first place. My step was still lighter than it had been any time since Friday.

 

On Tuesday I faced the breakfast again, and with it the arriving post. Ginny banished the howlers heading our way, and Hermione gathered up the papers. She'd been shifting through the articles about the New Gay Saviour, and I was more than happy to let her do it, knowing she'd let me know if there was anything surprising. So far there hadn't been. The _Daily Prophet_ printed the most vicious pieces, though Hermione had owled Skeeter and threatened to expose her secret to the ministry, at which point she'd made corrections to the articles claiming love dramas involving me and varying Weasleys. The other papers had been more respectful, even going so far as to speculate about possible attitude change amongst the public resulting from another vanquisher of a Dark Lord being gay. Dumbledore's orientation had been fairly well known, after all.

 

Ginny was about to target another howler when the owl veered off and dropped it to the end of the wooden table, where it begun emanating smoke in front of Ron. Hermione gave him a dispassionate glance and went back to her breakfast, and Ginny shoved her wand back up her sleeve. The whole Great Hall seemed to be holding its breath as Ron resigned himself to his fate and tore open the red envelope with a nervous expression. To my shock, George's voice exploded in the space.

 

“ICKLE BITTY RONNIEKINS! HERE'S A SOUVENIR FROM YOUR BIG BROTHER.” The howler flashed, and Ron's ears started to grow rapidly. The voice went on, in a gleeful tone, “FOR LITTLE CHILDREN WHO DON'T KNOW HOW TO STAY OUT OF BUSINESS THEY'RE TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND, FOR GITS WHO COMPLETELY DESERVE IT, HEXING HOWLERS – NOW FROM WEASLEYS WIZARD WHEEZES!” The howler erupted in colourful flash of light. Ron's ears stopped growing, now drooping and reaching all the way to his shoulders.

 

After a stunned silence, chuckles started emanating from different corners of the Hall. Despite the fact that I would have rather had things back to normal with Ron, George's support warmed me. It had been a long time since he'd found the energy or motivation to come up with anything new for the store and I was overjoyed to see signs that he was doing better, even if the proof of that was hexing his brother.

 

I hugged Ginny, who looked dangerously close to tears even as she smiled. Her thoughts were probably running along the same paths. Hermione was frowning and staring after Ron.

 

“It's alright if you want to make sure he's fine.”

 

She looked at me, and the uncertainty was replaced with determination. She picked up her toast again. “I appreciate that, Harry, but not until he apologises for outing you.” She took a bite out of the toast, chewing methodically, and I could bet she wasn't tasting the food at all. “It's not just about you. It's the principle of the thing. You remember when he left us last year?”

 

My response was a nod as I remembered the weeks Hermione and I had spent looking for the Horcruxes alone, until Ron had come back.

 

“It's the same thing,” Hermione said.

 

We left it at that.

 

**

 

“That fucking little Slytherin shit!” Ginny was fuming, pacing rapidly back and forth, the school broom swinging dangerously in her hand.

 

After a useless attempt at hiding my grin, I drew on the Quidditch glowes and picked up my Firebolt. “Well?”

 

“He pulled three girls yesterday!” she exclaimed, eyes narrowing. “Three! How the fuck did he manage that?”

 

“All in a day's work for a Malfoy, I suppose.”

 

Based on her glare, Ginny didn't much appreciate my humour. “One of them was a _fourth year Hufflepuff_ , Harry.”

 

“So what?”

 

“What do you mean, so what?”

 

“Er...”

 

“I did expect some kind of _standards_ ,” Ginny said haughtily, with such a resemblance to Malfoy's tone that I wanted to laugh.

 

“You're still five people ahead, aren't you?” I consoled her. Based on her slow smile, it was successful.

 

“Actually,” she said, “six after Zabini and Parkinson this morning. And yes, at the same time, in case you were wondering.”

 

My face was flushing at the not-altogether-unwelcome images that followed that statement, and Ginny laughed.

 

“I bet you Malfoy won't like you going for his friends,” I finally said.

 

“Probably not.” Ginny smiled wickedly. “So, you wanna hear what Blaise was like?”

 

**

 

On an early Thursday morning a week later, the weather had taken turn towards the winter and most people had started to use light warming charms on their robes even within the castle.

 

There was the usual flurry of owls to the Gryffindor table. I'd read some of the letters I'd been receiving since the outing. There'd been some who felt the need to tell me what a blood traitor freak I was, but most had been surprisingly positive, and I'd even replied to a few kids who were struggling with their sexuality. Hermione scooped up the papers, which still didn't seem to have anything more newsworthy to report than my supposed dalliances with one celebrity or another.

 

As I listened to Seamus and Dean talk about the Gryffindor Quidditch practice, I went absent-mindedly through the envelopes, not really caring to engage without Ron's contributions. We still weren't talking, and due to the Gryffindor solidarity pact that was being enforced with surprising efficiency, Ron was being shunned by the rest of the table. After having tried approaching him a couple of times, he was still shutting me off and there was little I could do. Ron had always come around in the end, and I tried to remind myself about that fact.

 

Just as I was about to shove the letters into my bag, a familiar handwriting caught my eye. With an irrational flutter of excitement in the bottom of my stomach, I opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment.

 

_Mr. Potter,_

_Regarding our previous correspondence, you are welcome to join me for tea at my personal quarters on the following Saturday at 6pm._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Severus Snape_

 

I glanced towards the staff table and Snape's eyes locked on mine. He had an unreadable expression, but his gaze was setting my skin on fire. When I gave him a nod, this time I could've sworn he smiled before he turned away.

 

During the summer, Snape had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested in my company and I couldn't fathom what would've made him change his mind, though a part deep inside me held up hope for him wanting me the way I wanted him. All of him, because I was finally admitting to myself that _that_ was what I wanted. Regardless of the many, many rational reasons not to. With the way he spoke and the way he moved and the way he could make me _feel_ , Snape made me want him, desperately, crave him like I desired magic or air.

 

Right. Tea in Snape's rooms the day after tomorrow. From the dread that was coiling deep within me, I might as well be facing Voldemort.

 

But I remembered Snape's words. I was a Gryffindor. I could do it.

 

**

 

It wasn't once or twice that I had to remind myself of that fact before I was finally knocking the dark, wooden door leading to Snape's quarters, at ten to six on the Saturday evening.

 

Snape opened the door after just a moment. “Come in,” he said, striding in before me. Swallowing nervously, I wondered how he could produce the dramatic effect so well even without the usual robes. Then I mentally shook myself and followed him hastily. It wouldn't do to let Snape catch me ogling him.

 

While Snape prepared the tea, I sat down on a deceivingly soft leather armchair. Despite my resolve, it wasn't possible to avoid noticing the way the black trousers and the white button up shirt showed off his body as he moved. Somehow it had me enthralled even though barely any skin was visible, just where his neck was left bare by the way he'd tied back his hair.

 

Forcing myself to look around myself, I took in the elegant furniture of the sitting room. At the same time I wondered if Snape preferred to brew the tea himself instead of using house-elves because of the quality or because he considered it more polite for company, assuming he saw me as such. It was weird that I knew some intensely private details of him while at the same time remaining ignorant of multiple little things that constituted his daily life.

 

How I wanted to know more, but Snape guarded his privacy tight, always distrustful and suspicious of the motivations of others. And I had to give it to the man – with his experiences, he had a good reason. I was only one of many people to have disrespected his right to privacy in the past. Breaching the barriers of a lifetime would be a formidable obstacle, no matter how much I might wish for it.

 

But he had invited me to his home. Maybe that was a start. And I was no longer the child who had stuck his nose into things that were none of my business. Snape wasn't big on apologies but perhaps he'd be willing to assess, anew, whether he could trust me and I could prove myself worth it.

 

“How do you feel about your eighth year so far, Mr. Potter?” asked Snape, as he poured tea for us both. I cradled the large mug in my hands, letting the tea warm my skin. Snape settled in the dark brown armchair across from me, and I tried not to stare.

 

“I'm impressed with how well you were able to rebuild the school during the Summer and prepare for the extra students doing the eighth year, sir. The classes are going well enough, I think. There's a lot for me to learn, still, though I can't say DADA is teaching me much.”

 

“Not a fan of Professor Miffin, then, I take it?” Snape asked. He might have sounded pleased, though that was probably wishful thinking.

 

“He's not as bad as some of the ones we've had, but it could be done better.”

 

“I'm certain that a right person could,” Snape agreed. “Minerva did well enough in managing to find a new defence teacher for this year. Obviously, the Dark Lord's curse on the position wasn't common knowledge, and therefore it will take somebody holding it for more than a year before Hogwarts starts receiving applications.”

 

“Yeah, I reckon it will, but maybe Professor Miffin will stay for a while, and after people see he hasn't suffered any curses or met an early end, the headmistress can start advertising again.” Pausing, I took a sip from my cup. “I do miss playing for the Quidditch team but I'm enjoying the additional freedoms for the final year students. Filch is pissed off, though, for not being able to punish us when there's no real curfew.” If I wanted to move beyond our usual interaction with Snape, I'd have to get over my fear of the man at some point. Emboldened by the amusement in his eyes, I decided to jump in and added, “I bet you're disappointed, too, Professor.”

 

“It is different, certainly,” said Snape. “I barely know what to do with my time now that I no longer need to be herding the Gryffindor Golden Trio back into their tower every other night.”

 

Helplessly, I grinned. Too many times in the past we'd clashed over the smallest misunderstandings and I was absurdly pleased that he hadn't taken offence. Not that it gave me the courage to suggest alternative ways of spending his time during the evenings.

 

It surprised me when Snape broke the silence, “Since you are in my home at my request, I would like to invite you to call me by my first name.”

 

“Severus,” I said and fought a stupid, inappropriate, irrational blush. “Thank you. And, please, no more Mr. Potter, at least not outside class.”

 

“Very well, Harry,” he conceded, staring into my eyes.

 

Giving up the fight as a lost cause, I took a drink from my tea. “Do you expect to keep on teaching potions beyond this year, Severus? I know you had little time during the Summer to think of any alternatives.”

 

“I could have left had I wanted to,” Snape snapped immediately.

 

“I know, that's not what I meant,” I said calmly.

 

He looked at me for a moment before answering. “Despite the rumours that used to haunt the corridors, I actually prefer the potions position to defence.” His eyes flickered. “There is a certain challenge in attempting to prevent the student with that particular gift from blowing up the classroom.”

 

At that, I grinned outright. “I figure I'd be one of those specially talented ones.”

 

“Very astute, Harry” Severus said, hiding his smile into the teacup, but holding my eyes. “Hogwarts is my home. However, I have been here for a long time because it was also my only option.”

 

“And now it isn't.”

 

“Indeed,” Severus said. “There are, of course, limitations to the options for a former Death Eater, war hero or not, but there are still other paths I could pursue. Unbelievable as it may seem, I do not particularly enjoy teaching. How about you, Harry, are you still anticipating becoming an Auror?”

 

“God I like it when you call me Harry,” I said before my brain caught on. Severus only chuckled, and I set my cup on the table. “To be honest, not really. I've been reconsidering it for a while now. I'm not all that enthusiastic for it, but I don't really know what I'd like to do.” Except you, I mentally added, carefully avoiding Severus' eyes. Bloody Legilimens. “I think it might be good to just take a break for a while, if I don't suddenly find something I'm passionate about during next term.”

 

“That sounds reasonable,” said Severus. “You have had little time to consider it until now.”

 

No longer able to take it, I braced my hands on my knees and looked him in the eye. “Sir, if I may ask, what made you change your mind about meeting with me like this?”

 

Severus set aside his cup carefully. “I haven't changed my mind. However, the circumstances have changed.”

 

The opaque way he talked made me want to shake him or kiss him breathless. I stayed in my seat, instead. “Your letter said you didn't want anything to do with me.”

 

“Unsurprisingly, you were paying as much attention as always,” he said. “I believe my exact words were that I have no interest in being your friend.”

 

For a little while, I bit my lip, before finding the courage to ask, “And you haven't changed your mind?”

 

“Not in the least.”

 

“Oh.” Despite how I'd tried to brace myself, the disappointment still hurt too bloody much.

 

“Potter,” Snape snapped, and I forced myself to look at him. He visibly collected himself, then spoke, softer. “Harry. My friendship is not truly what you want, is it?”

 

God, did he have to rub it in? “No, it's not,” I ground out, staring at the antique clock on the wall. “Happy now?” I demanded, my anger giving me the strength to meet his eyes again.

 

My breath caught when he smiled, slowly. “Yes,” he said, reaching out to trace his fingers alongside my jaw in a trail that blazed heat in their wake. The touch made me lean in, and then he got up, pulling me up with him.

 

Kissing him, moving into him, it was like coming home. His nose bumped into mine and he was tall enough to make my neck hurt and still it was just so bloody right – from how Snape's lips parted for me softly to the fervent way his tongue was invading my mouth and _stroking_ mine so intently that all I could do was to groan into the kiss, feeling my prick fill. Wanting Severus to feel it, feel what he was doing to me, I rubbed against his thigh. The answering groan made me tremble.

 

“Will you allow me to take you to my bed, Harry?” Severus murmured in my ear, his warm breath making me shiver.

 

“God, yes,” I exhaled, no longer able to contain the want that was trying to boil over, every part of my body straining to get closer to him. Snape guided me to the bedroom, joining me in divesting us both of our clothes, never releasing my mouth for more than few seconds at a time until I was laying back against the soft burgundy pillows, naked and panting.

 

“You're trying to deprive me of oxygen,” I complained. “Not that this wouldn't be a good way to die.”

 

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss my hairline so that his bare chest was pressed against mine. “I'd rather you didn't just yet, Harry.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” My hands reached to cup his arse and I jerked my hips, groaning when my cock brushed against his.

 

Severus hissed, grinding back into me, once, in a way that made me moan in pleasure. He stilled my hips with his hands, kissing me and holding my gaze. “Have you been fucked before?”

 

“No,” I admitted, my voice low and filled with the need I was feeling.

 

The dark eyes flashed heat. “Do you want it?” I nodded immediately, secure in the knowledge that there were few things I wanted more.

 

“Trust me,” Severus murmured, “tell me. Let me hear you say it, Harry.”

 

The sound of my name on his lips made me moan along with the heat he was around me, the heat I was becoming. Looking into his eyes felt like drowning. “Please,” I whispered, “please, fuck me, Severus.”

 

His eyes closed, and I could feel the muscles on his arms quivering as he claimed my mouth, kissing me with a need, like he was drinking me in.

 

He moved to kiss and lave at my throat, his fingers following after his mouth like he was memorising my skin. Laying my head back into the pillow, I shut my eyes and let myself drift into his touch and allowed the sounds of pleasure escape undeterred. All the while I revelled in the way he seemed to be searching for them and coaxing them out of me with the soft sweep of his fingers on my skin and the harsh way his nails dug into my arms, making me cry out and barely allowing me to stop from coming on the spot.

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” I was chanting in encouragement as his hands moved on me, sweeping over my stomach, circling my thighs, his teeth and tongue finding my collarbones and each one of my ribs, moving down the trail of hair above my groin and sucking the skin over my hipbones in a way that made me want to melt into the mattress. “Please,” I whispered, breathless, begging, lost within the pleasure, hissing and bucking into it when Severus scraped his fingers over my erection, leaving a wet trail of precome along the path.

 

When his finger pressed against my hole, slicked with oil, circling over it, I was so ready for it. I pushed myself up on my elbows to see Severus bare before me, taking in the undisguised desire in his eyes.

 

“You can do two right away,” I told him, eagerness overcoming any embarrassment, “I've done that much before, myself.”

 

He complied the request, and it was different. A lot different. Shutting my eyes and breathing out, I let myself fall back. “Ohh, God,” I gasped brokenly, then added, as Severus stilled, “more. More.”

 

“Talk to me,” Severus ordered, as he pushed his fingers further, slowly. “Tell me how you feel.”

 

“I-- I, oh, fuck,” I tried. “Full, good, so good, want more, move, please,” I begged, breaking into a moan when he did, fucking me with his fingers until I was ready to burst, my cock aching, desiring him closer, in me. Wanting to see him again, I forced myself back on my elbows despite the languid pleasure filling me. “I'm ready, I'm so ready. Want you, Severus.”

 

He moved then, breathing hard, and the pressure of his cock was a different feeling again as he pressed in, stretching me wide open.

 

“Push back, Harry.” Severus' low voice came against my ear and only then did I register that I'd fallen back and shut my eyes. “Relax, breathe.”

 

“Okay,” I promised. He slid in slowly, thrusting shallowly until he was in me, kissing me, making me _yearn_. It felt uncomfortable and unbelievable and amazing and fucking intense and I wanted more.

 

“Move, move, please, fuck me, I want it already,” I told him and I could feel it when he let himself go, pulling out and thrusting back in, starting with slow, long strokes that brushed over my prostate and made me gulp greedily for air.

 

He pounded into me, holding onto my hips as he claimed me, sending me over the edge and making me yell in desperate pleasure as I was finally, finally coming. His arms tightened around me, holding on painfully as he thrust once, twice and then he was gasping into my shoulder, spending his release in me, and I held onto him hard, trying to catch my breath.

 

Severus rolled over to the side, but I refused to let go, burrowing my face into his chest, holding on tighter, revelling in the feeling of his softening prick still inside me and his warmth seeping into me. “God,” I whispered.

 

“ _Accio_ ,” Severus murmured, and I let him shift enough to pull out of me, though I regretted the loss, and spell us clean. I smiled when he set the wand to the nightstand and drew me back to his chest, yawning.

 

“Sleep well, Severus,” I breathed, closing my eyes in contentment.

 

The reply was quiet. “You too, Harry.”

 

**

 

A loud scream woke me. My eyes burst open, but there was a wandtip digging into my throat before I'd had time to blink.

 

Staying absolutely still for a few seconds, I waited until Snape's eyes cleared and widened in horror. He scrambled backwards and right off the bed, turning away from me and apologising over and over again. Slowly I got up, walking softly behind him and wrapping my arms around him.

 

“It's alright,” I said in a quiet voice. He fell silent, standing rigidly in my embrace. After long moments he started to relax. I hated to break the silence, but I had no choice. “Can you go back to sleep?” Unsurprisingly, he shook his head.

 

“You should go back to bed,” said Snape as he moved out of my arms.

 

“You don't really expect me to, do you?”

 

“I suppose not,” he conceded with a half-hearted scowl, draping a dark blue robe around himself carefully, like an armour. He lit the fire in the living room and sat into an armchair facing the fireplace. Taking the blanket with me, I followed and settled into the other one, staring into the flames, because I knew the discomfort of scrutiny.

 

“You asked me to trust you and I promised to do so,” I said softly. “I wish... I know it's difficult for you, maybe more difficult than it is to me, and I get why, but I'd like you to do the same. I might not understand completely, but you can talk to me.”

 

He stayed silent and I didn't push it. For Severus I could be patient. And pressure would be, for sure, the surest way to get him to close up. But I'd had to say it, to let him know that I was here. To let him know I wanted to be here for him.

 

Finally he shifted and, to my surprise, summoned a bottle of brandy and two glasses, filling both and handing one to me. I sipped slowly, and the warmth from the drink combined with the heat emanating from the fireplace.

 

“I think you may understand better than most,” Severus said then. From the corner of my eye I saw the movement of his hands as he twirled the liquid in the glass. “I was sixteen when I cast my first Unforgivable. It was a muggle man. Bellatrix used the cruciatus on him first – showing me how it's done, is what she said. There was no deeper reason to it – he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did it to show that I could. I am unsure if you could have found it in you to hate enough to use the killing curse, even on the Dark Lord.” Snape emptied his glass in one fell swoop. “You should know that I have never had such problems with Unforgivables. Hate, I've felt in abundance,” he said, adding quietly, “Love, much less.”

 

Despite my unwillingness to interrupt, I had to come clean, too. “I've done it, though not Avada Kedavra. I think we all have it in us.”

 

Snape turned to look at me, and I met his gaze. “I will want to know later. About you,” he said.

 

At my nod, he turned back towards the fire and continued, “In the last war, I had to do it. I know it was essential for winning. And he ordered me to. Albus – my second Master.” He laughed, and it was an ugly, bitter sound. “I hated him plenty, no question about that. For what he made me do. For making me his murderer.” He looked at me again, eyes burning black, intense. “For making me complicit in sending you to your death.”

 

The burn of alcohol soothed the prickling of my eyes. Severus scowled. “None of that makes any difference. It's still there – the guilt. Ironic, isn't it, that the reason for going to Albus in the first place is also the result of that decision? I thought I could make it all disappear.”

 

He was right, I did understand. “Guilt is where your nightmares come from, too,” I said softly.

 

“And yours?” Severus inquired, looking at me. Our glasses stood forgotten on the round table beside us. When I sought his hand, he gave it and held mine with a light pressure, but it was easier to talk looking into the fire and letting the dance of the flames hypnotise me.

 

“It's stupid. You've got Dumbledore in your dreams. I... I have Tom,” I admitted, my throat feeling tight. Severus squeezed my hand. “My friends know I have nightmares, but it's not like I can tell them that I feel guilty for killing Voldemort. They'd think I'm mental.”

 

He chuckled darkly, not letting go, and it made me release a laugh in turn.

 

“Alright, Snape, you don't have to say it. It's just... when he was after me, before, and even when I heard the prophesy – when I was a kid, I was just told that this really powerful wizard killed my parents, and he's evil and bad and barely even human, right?” Trying to express myself made me fumble with the words. “And I thought of it like that, all black and white, for a long time until, until sixth year really.”

 

“You grew up,” he said seriously, then said with a small smirk, “I noticed.”

 

I could feel a blush spread of my cheeks despite everything. “Prat. Yeah, that was when that happened. For one thing, I almost killed Malfoy. I've never felt as fucking terrified as I did when he was lying there on the bloody floor. And then... then there was Dumbledore and the memories he was showing me, the ones I needed to find the horcruxes. Memories about this beautiful boy, this half-blood wizard who grew up knowing shit all about magic, and being bullied by the Muggles at the orphanage, and who knew fear and pain and abuse.” Drawing a sharp breath, I ran my free hand through my hair. “Before then I just, I never thought of him as human, Voldemort. Not really. Helped that he looked like he did by then, too. Even if all of the other stuff was true, just as much. I mean he was evil, and by the end you could say barely human. But that wasn't all there was to him. Even with him, it wasn't all he was.”

 

“It never is,” he said, his thumb drawing small circles on my palm. His shoulders were tense, as rigid as my muscles were. It made me wonder if he knew.

 

“I felt for him, the boy, the young man in the memories. I related to him, he was so much like me, I couldn't help it. And, and...” My throat felt like it was closing up, I couldn't go on.

 

“You were attracted to him.”

 

My eyes squeezed shut tightly and I nodded jerkily, feeling like I couldn't get enough air, unsure whether to be relieved or aghast that he'd figured it out. He held onto my hand much too tightly, otherwise I would've pulled it away.

 

“Attraction,” Severus said after a long while, his voice tight and nearly pained, “is not always something rational. I doubt anybody knows that better than I do.”

 

While I wanted to ask, I didn't dare - I could guess well enough, about the attraction and how much more it must have cost Severus.

 

Then, I turned to look at him. Snape had this thoughtful expression, like he was integrating what I'd told him to his understanding of me. It was a relief, a reason why I could admit to him some things I had trouble admitting to myself, things I was ashamed of. His interest in me didn't include passing judgement – he was simply intrigued. Wanting to know more, just like I wanted to know more about him.

 

“Thank you,” I whispered. He looked at me questioningly, and I smiled. “For not judging me.”

 

Severus choked on air, releasing an incredulous laughter. “Yes, the Death Eater judging the Chosen One,” he remarked dryly, getting up and dragging me on my feet.

 

“Will you tell me, some day, what Tom was like when you first met him?” Despite some intense self-loathing, I needed to know, and it wasn't like there was anybody else to ask.

 

Severus pressed a light kiss on my lips. “I shall tell you, Harry,” he murmured, kissing me again. “Some day. However, I think we should endeavour for a few more hours of sleep, still.”

 

“You sure you want to sleep?” I wanted to know, and his eyes flashed.

 

“I may be amenable to other suggestions,” he smirked.

 

It made me draw him in for another kiss, and this time I was tasting his mouth with my tongue and pulling him into me, letting the hunger and desire grow until I was burning with it, with desire for his touch and his body and just to be closer, closer.

 

Severus gave me what I wanted, taking me slowly, with languid kisses that seemed to go on forever, building me into a climax that had me screaming his name out into the night.

 

**

 

It was past noon when we got up in the morning, and this time Severus utilised the Hogwarts house-elves, setting up a breakfast that was consumed with eagerness. He needed little persuasion with joining me in the shower that followed, and there his hands worked magic on my muscles in a way that made me feel boneless and too happy to express.

 

At the door I kissed him again and again, soft presses of lips, surprised to find that Severus was willing to indulge me in that way, and the joy of it made a warmth rise within me that I had trouble letting go of.

 

“Just-- don't-- want-- to go-- yet,” I murmured in between kisses.

 

“I know,” he muttered against my lips, then pulled away unenthusiastically. His mouth curved into a smile that was too damn beautiful. “I, also, find myself reluctant to allow you to leave.”

 

At feeling myself grin like an idiot, I bit my lip ineffectively. “Getting sappy in your old age?” I teased, because I had to. He laughed.

 

“Luckily, brat, you seem to know how to banish that,” he stated, stepping past me to the door and holding it open for me. With a sigh, I forced myself to walk into the corridor, leaving Severus behind, a final heated glance exchanged between us.

 

That was really not how I'd expected it to go. Willfully ignoring their knowing looks, I walked past the portraits along the hallway. Hell, it was all so much better than even my wildest, most hopeful fantasies.

 

Reaching the ground floor, I made for the huge wooden doors instead of continuing towards Gryffindor Tower. My head was full of Severus – his taste, his scent, the way he let me see into his soul and the way he held my hand when I talked to him about murdering the man he'd submitted to and served for the past two decades. His weight against my back when I woke up and the way a rare smile could light up his eyes.

 

I needed to think.

 

**

 

“Potter!” That voice I'd heard much too often to mistake it for anybody else. My numbed fingers unfastened my winter robe - it had been far too long to stay outside and my frozen arse complained about the treatment it'd been subjected to.

 

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

 

The blond grasped my arm and started walking towards the main stairwell in determined steps. “You're going to come and deal with this.”

 

“Hey, let go of me!” I exclaimed, trying to keep up with his stride and wondering what the hell was going on. To my surprise, Malfoy turned to the narrow corridor on the left and pushed open a door to a room I'd never been in before. The two voices bellowed from the inside, but the row came to an abrupt halt when Malfoy shoved me in.

 

“Ron? Ginny? Um, what's up?” I asked, looking at them uncertainly. The last I'd checked, they hadn't even been talking to each other. Arguing was probably an improvement, and I cast a hopeful glance towards Ron, who'd now stayed in the same room with me voluntarily for longer than he'd done since our fight.

 

Ginny's eyes narrowed and fixed on me. “Why don't you tell me, Harry Potter.”

 

“Er...” Suddenly I was feeling very nervous despite not yet knowing the reason.

 

Malfoy snorted behind me. “How eloquent.”

 

The response was on my tongue but Ron beat me to it. “Shut up, Malfoy,” he grunted, and the blond rolled his eyes, walking to the side table and sitting onto it.

 

“Ron, you all right?”

 

Ginny stepped forwards. “You first, Harry. Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” I said, bewildered.

 

“Of course,” she said sarcastically. When I kept staring at her, she threw her hands up in frustration, reminding me of Hermione. “And where the hell have you been? Ron came to me at noon, telling me you'd been missing since dinner last night.”

 

Ron rubbed his neck, red in the face. Ginny went on, without giving me the chance to reply. “I've been worried sick about you, you arse! There are still Death Eaters on the loose, in case you've forgotten. You don't look like you were kidnapped and forcibly detained, though.”

 

Oh. Crap. “I'm sorry, Ginny, I should've realised you'd worry.”

 

“So, you're telling me you were just too lazy to mention you were gonna disappear for 24 hours straight. Me and Draco have been combing through Hogwarts the whole day!”

 

Since when was she calling him Draco? The blond responded to my questioning glance with a smirk and a shrug. Ginny cleared her throat, reminding me that really wasn't the priority here.

 

“Look,” I reached out to Ginny and took her hand, “I'm sorry. I didn't know I'd be so long. I didn't think and then, well-- I sort of had other things on my mind...”

 

She stared at me for a while with her lips pressed in a thin line, then one side of her mouth curved upwards. “Alright. I forgive you, as long as you do nothing like that again, you wanker,” she said, pulling me into a hug.

 

“Not last night he wasn't,” Malfoy drawled. My face burned and Ginny started laughing.

 

“Don't think I won't demand details,” she said, grinning wickedly.

 

“Later,” I promised her, giving a tiny nod towards Ron.

 

Ginny smiled, and made for the door. “Come on, Draco!” came a decisive shout. Malfoy rolled his eyes, but then followed her out obediently, letting the door bang shut behind him. My grin faded into an uncertain smile as I turned to face Ron.

 

“So,” I said, not really knowing how to continue. I wanted things to be okay between us again, but I wasn't sure if Ron was still angry. For that matter, I didn't know if I was still angry.

 

He took a sharp breath, seeming to brace himself. “Look, mate, I'm sorry,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “I-- I think I was jealous,” Ron admitted, and whatever I'd been expecting, it wasn't that. “It's stupid, so bloody stupid. I just, I get so irrational when I feel like that... Merlin, it's bloody pathetic, it's always the same thing with me, isn't it?”

 

Some of the pressure around my chest was easing up slightly, allowing me to speak. “What do you mean?”

 

Ron looked miserable. “You know, I swore to myself that last time that I'd never do it again. Abandon you like this, because I was feeling jealous. I'm so mad at myself, you've got no idea. I'm angrier at myself than Ginny is right now.”

 

“That's angry as hell, mate,” I responded, somewhat amused in spite of everything.

 

“No kidding.” Ron shook his head with a half-smile. “In our fourth year it was the attention you were getting and last year it was Hermione, and this time... You were getting close to my sister in a way I'd never could, even after you two had broken up, I just don't connect with her the way you do, we're too different I guess, and... I don't know, that was hard enough, but then with George...”

 

Ron's voice cracked, but he didn't look away even when his eyes filled with tears. This was why Ron had been sorted into Gryffindor. “After... after Fred... I wanted to be there for George, you have no idea. He was like half a person. You saw him at the Burrow, how he'd fall silent in the middle of sentences and how mum and dad tried to get through to him and, hell, we all tried and we kept failing and believe me... I've never felt so bloody useless in my life.”

 

“I know,” I murmured quietly, my heart aching at the pain in his eyes.

 

“And then you were able to... I saw it after that night, though I didn't know why it was, but he seemed alive again, a little more like himself, like some part of that unbearable pain had been lifted from his shoulders, and I was so damn relieved, and then when you told me. I felt so stupid and useless again, I just didn't get how some quick meaningless shag could suddenly fix him--”

 

My anger surged faster than I would've expected. “It wasn't like that!”

 

“I know! I know it wasn't, I just, I didn't get it then. I'm sorry,” Ron said. When I remained quiet, anger warring with compassion, he went on. “I'm really sorry. I've been thinking about it, you know, ever since, what Ginny's been telling me. I don't think I was really listening to her before, but I kept thinking about it and... it's not something I can relate to, you know, but I get it now, it wasn't about the sex, or not just about it. Right?”

 

“Yeah. I'm not in love with George but I do love him,” I said after a slow exhale, unsure of how to explain it better. “It could've never been just some casual fuck, not between us.” Thinking about Severus, I wondered whether I knew how to do casual at all. He made me desire him with such a single-minded passion that everything else seemed to pale in comparison.

 

“I get it now. I just... I was scared you'd used him as an experiment or something, you know?”

 

I looked at him steadily. “I would never do that.”

 

“I know you wouldn't,” he replied, facing my gaze unflinchingly. “Will you forgive me?”

 

“I... yeah. Of course I will.”

 

Ron stepped up to me, hugging me tightly, and I clutched him back, feeling the bizarre sensation of laughter bubbling inside me at the same time that my eyes prickled. “Alright, let's get to the common room so that the girls can see we've made up. I can't wait to let Hermione start flaying you.”

 

“Hell, Harry, when did you become so cruel?” he demanded, but when we left the room he was grinning as helplessly as I was.

 

**

 

“All right, spill it,” Ginny said, her eyes gleaming.

 

Yawning widely, I attempted to settle myself comfortably on the common room sofa. “This couldn't wait until morning?”

 

“You've been living vicariously through me for way too long. Now I want the scoop. Chop chop, who is it?”

 

“Severus.”

 

Ginny stared at me. “Wow.”

 

“Yeah...” An unrestrainable smile was spreading on my face.

 

“Man, you've got it bad,” she stated, shaking her head and grinning. “I don't know what's more impressive – that you're shagging Snape or that you're calling him Severus.”

 

“I guess I don't know, either,” I admitted.

 

“You should see your face. Damn, you really like him, don't you?”

 

“Yeah, I really do.”

 

“And how's he in the sack?”

 

Groaning, I hid my blush in my hands. “Brilliant,” I muttered. “Amazing. A God. You know, I don't think there's a proper word for it. Or maybe in his vocabulary...”

 

**

 

“How did your meeting go?” Severus asked, folding his teaching robes into neat piles. The magically engorged trunk was laying open at his feet, already holding the possessions from his living room and office.

 

“They'll all miss me. Hermione made me promise to send her books about the political organisations of wizards in Asia and Africa, especially related to the treatment of house-elves and werewolves. She also wants to learn about the local magical knowledge. Ron tried to remind her that they'll need to fit a bed into their flat and not just bookshelves. I, for one, am wondering if even the Black and Potter vaults combined will be enough for the owl costs.” I leaned against the wall and watched Severus pack, knowing better than to offer help. “Ginny's still indignant about the silver and green colour scheme Malfoy picked for their living room. I think he did it just to spite her – it's not like his former rooms at the Manor are done up all in Slytherin colours. They've made a new bet for their first year of training at curse breaking, and she swore to win that one and make him dress in red and gold for a month. They'll still have separate bedrooms, obviously, but I think they'll have less time to devote to the bet with the way they're going at each other.”

 

“Do spare me the gory details.” Snape gave me an impatient glance. “And I meant the other meeting, you brat.”

 

Inwardly I smirked, obviously well aware of that fact already. “She served tea, thankfully no lemon drops, and told me she's expecting both of us by the end of July next year.”

 

“You do realise that your decision means you'll be required to actually compete for the position.” Severus emptied the bottom drawer with a wand motion that sent his clothes flying into the trunk.

 

“McGonagall will consider me, and I'm sure I'll get it if I'm the best applicant. If not, then it shouldn't be mine anyway.”

 

“Gryffindors,” Severus huffed. Waiting until the books he was levitating had arranged themselves beside the clothes compartment, I walked over to him and hugged him. The shelves looked empty without the leather bound volumes that I'd become so used to.

 

“Thank you,” I said.

 

“And what for?” Snape's right arm curled softly around my lower back while he kept arranging parchments into neat piles, using his wand with his left hand.

 

For everything you are. “For coming with me.”

 

He snorted. “As if you could be trusted to go by yourself, traipsing around the world and fighting Dark Arts.” He made it sound like I was headed for a battle rather than the trip it actually was. Learning DADA techniques was part of the agenda, of course, but the point was to leave Britain behind and see what else was out there. 

 

“Bastard.”

 

Severus' eyes locked on mine, blazing a heat that made me shiver. “Is that any way to thank me?”

 

Licking my lips, I raised my left hand on his chest. “I bet I can think of a better way.” My voice had dropped to the low pitch that Severus' closeness tended to draw out from me.

 

“Mmm, I shall hold you to that.” Snape pulled me into a tight embrace while his mouth met mine in an open-mouthed kiss that was goddamn sexy as hell and had me growling with disappointment when he pulled away. The bastard laughed in a way that made me want to ditch the international portkey that would whisk us to Egypt in favour of tackling him onto the bed and having my way with him until he'd be begging for more.

 

Instead, I let him go and took a final walk around the rooms that had accommodated our maturing relationship for the past six months, now bared of most of Snape's possessions. It felt wrong to leave the quarters behind, wrong that somebody else would make them into their home even for only a year. At the same time, that was overwhelmed by the excitement and anticipation of what was to come.

 

Facing the world with Severus felt just right.

 

 


End file.
